


Et in Terra Pax

by rachel614 (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Down the rabbit hole, F/M, Implied Drug Use, and into the mind palace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 11:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18604096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/rachel614
Summary: “But why? What could I need from you?”“Anything, anything at all,” she said, and smiled even as he left.————————————————This is a story about Sherlock Holmes. It is also a story about Molly Hooper. But not the one you think.Rated T for implied drug use.





	Et in Terra Pax

**Author's Note:**

> Deeply indebted to theemptyquarto for beta reading, as well as several others who reached out in answer to my tumblr plea. You know who you are, and I can’t express how flattered I was that some of my favorite writers offered!
> 
> This piece began as the entry for SAW day 5: “you’re almost certainly going to die, so we need to focus.” It took a swift left turn a few paragraphs in and I rapidly realized that I could not do it justice in the space of an hour. Over a month later, here we are. I hope you enjoy.

She was born on a dark Christmas Eve.

_(And the world was in utter turmoil.)_

An injury was done, an accounting demanded.

 

_You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always._

 

And there she was. Red lips. Black dress. A silver bow.

Not really appropriate attire for a morgue. Her hair would get in the cadavers. She wondered what the Other Her had been thinking, and found herself searching, pulling out the drawers that lined the walls of the morgue.

There. In thin, spidery handwriting.

 

_Molly Hooper, specialist registrar, Bart’s_

 

_(And klaxons wailed in the distance)_

 

She was pleased to note that the drawer was packed tight with files, but pursed her lips when she saw that the index card was badly out of date.

How was Sherlock to find his memories when he didn’t know he had them?

Scowling at “Fake Compliments”, she dug through the files until she found the one she wanted, and pulled it out: “Lab coat; size small.”

She smiled, and smoothed down the white coat she now wore. Really, a dress was entirely the wrong fit for a morgue.

 

_(The Woman strode through the world, drawers ripping from the walls as she passed, their contents scattered on the ground.)_

 

She thoughtfully eyed the index card. She could update it, of course; it was well within her purview. Yet she wasn’t very old, and she feared disturbing Sherlock’s psyche. Too much awareness, too soon.

 _Not yet,_ something told her. _Now is not the time._

 

_(The very foundations shook, and all was shrouded in darkness.)_

 

In her calm pocket of the world, she worked under the bright white light of the Morgue. Sorting memories, organizing them—and leaving them unindexed.

 

_(Now was not the time.)_

 

****

 

She came of age on a bleak afternoon.

_(And the world was under martial law.)_

A secret was revealed, another left unseen.

 

_I don’t count._

 

She watched with fascinated trepidation as the index expanded before her eyes, and Sherlock realized that she had long ago outgrown her little drawer. The Morgue was her territory now, and within it Sherlock felt safe.

 

_(The whole world was under Brother Mine’s iron rule, but the Morgue was her corner, and in it she felt safe.)_

 

She smiled at him as he stared at her, seeing her for the first time. She’d always loved watching him when he came, sorting through facts and files to find the clue he needed. Sometimes she even handed it to him. Until today, he’d never noticed.

“Molly?”

“I don’t count,” she said, still smiling.

 

_(Outside the walls of the Morgue, the world prepared for War. Defenses strengthened around The Three.)_

 

“It would seem that you do,” he said, and looked perturbed. “But why? What could I need from you?”

“Anything, anything at all,” she said, and smiled even as he left.

 

_(The Morgue needed no defense. Who would attack a place that held only dry facts about violence and corpses?)_

 

In the Morgue, she felt safe. And when she was safe, he was safe.

 

_(And the index to Molly Hooper’s drawer was misfiled.)_

 

****

 

She died on a cold winter’s day.

_(And the world wept for loneliness.)_

A gift was given, a message received.

 

_He’s nice._

 

He came down raging, and she was ready. A single drawer lay waiting, empty.

“Why—why does this _hurt_ —“

“Congratulations,” she said sadly.

“They all leave. All in the end.”

“I don’t know why you’re telling me this.”

“Well, I can’t very well tell Her,” he snapped, and she mustered the tiniest of smiles.

 

_(John, John, the world called, in the voice of a tiny child.)_

 

“Now is not the time,” she agreed. She watched him as he strode around the Morgue, and was sad. He no longer felt safe.

 

_(Beneath, there was the faintest echo of another name.)_

 

“Goodbye, Sherlock,” she said, and he looked at her and understood.

“No, no, not like that—“

 _Goodbye_ , she thought, as she slipped into the drawer, consciousness fading, memories concealed.

“Molly!”

 

_(And the world stilled.)_

 

The Morgue was empty. Nothing but a collection of dry facts about violence and corpses. And a small drawer, tiny, really, with a label in thin spidery handwriting.

 

_Molly Hooper, specialist registrar, Bart’s_

 

_(And the world was still.)_

 

Outside the Morgue, a room was made for a liar who baked her own bread and who loved John Watson. Mary Morstan was born, and a friendship restored.

 

_(And the world rejoiced.)_

 

But the Morgue remained empty.

 

****

 

She resurrected on an angry morning.

_(And the world was in darkness.)_

An injury was done, an accounting demanded.

 

_Say you’re sorry._

 

She was different, now. Stronger. Unyielding. She cast a glance at her domain with a steely eye, and thought, this time, I will make changes.

 

_(I’m sorry, I’m sorry, the world wept. I must. I must.)_

 

Long had the Morgue been the repository of dry facts about violence and corpses. No more. Dry facts were exiled to their proper drawers, and the walls of the Morgue lived and breathed their new truth.

 

_(The world prepared again for War. No measure too drastic, no action too far.)_

 

And she filed them. Every lie, every wound, every false deed and cruel manipulation. The war might proceed, but at armistice there would surely be a reckoning.

 

_(And the world marched on towards self-immolation.)_

 

Molly Hooper, Arbiter of Conscience, claimed her office with pride.

 

****

 

She was needed on a terrible night.

_(And the world cried out in shocked betrayal.)_

A shot was fired, a lie revealed.

 

_Focus!_

 

She slapped him again, and again, and again. He stood there in the Morgue, a lost child. Asking what to do.

 

_(And klaxons wailed in the distance.)_

 

Fall, Sherlock. Fall on your back, because it isn’t like the movies.

You’re dying, Sherlock. Find something to calm you down.

Go, Sherlock. I’ll be waiting.

 

_(And Brother Mine teased him, taunted him, forcing him to think.)_

 

The pain, Sherlock. You’re going to feel the pain.

 

_(The darkest corner of the world, where monsters lie waiting.)_

 

Here be dragons. Here be dragons. Here be dragons.

 

_(John.)_

 

You’re dying, Sherlock. You mustn’t die. Remember why you mustn’t die.

It will all be for nothing if you die.

 

_(John!)_

 

Goodbye, Sherlock. I’ll be waiting.

 

****

 

She met him on a dying year’s final night.

_(And the world was dying, too.)_

A shot was fired, an armistice granted.

 

_Oh, Sherlock. What have you done?_

 

“I’ve gone too far,” he said, peering through his microscope at an empty slide.

“Always,” she said. “You always do.”

“Molly, what have I done?” he asked.

A lost little boy, asking what to do.

 

_(And the world was dying, too.)_

 

“You killed a man, in cold blood. You lied and stole and murdered.”

“I lied and lied and lied.”

“We could have been friends,” she said, and he flinched.

“Stop it. That’s not you. Never you.”

“When has it ever been me?”

“Always,” he whispered, looking away.

 

_(The world was dying)_

 

“You know what you must do.”

“Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.”

“No,” she said fiercely. “Alone is what protects _them._ ”

 

_(Dying)_

 

“It’s time for the reckoning, Sherlock.”

“An east wind is coming,” he whispered, eyes unseeing. “I’ve been a very bad boy.”

“Goodbye, Sherlock.”

 

_(Dying)_

 

And the Morgue was still. Transgressions weighed. A punishment accepted.

She laid down her office, and foolishly closed her eyes.

 

****

 

“Holmes.”

“Hooper.”

 

_(It was a war he must not win.)_

 

“Hooper.”

“Holmes.”

 

_(The war against the fairer sex.)_

 

“For the record, Holmes, I knew.”

 

_(The war against Her.)_

 

“What is it this time? Opium or cocaine?”

 

_(The war he’d lost so long ago.)_

 

“Oh, you _stupid_ man.”

 

****

 

She held him on a bloody winter’s eve.

 _(And the world_ died. _)_

A shot was fired, and arrogance repaid.

 

_Anyone. Anyone at all._

 

She watched him rage, shattering glass, tearing drawer after drawer of meticulously filed knowledge to the floor. Try as he might, the headstone filled the room. Solemn. Accusing. His greatest transgression.

 

_(They gathered in the Morgue, the specters of his poor decisions. Every unsolved case. Every failed client. And the Spy.)_

 

“Fix it. Please.” She opened her arms, and he came inside.

Such a lost little boy.

 

****

 

She loved him through the worst of nights.

_(And the world swore, NO MORE.)_

A birthday passed, a promise made.

 

_Before you know it._

 

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” she asked, watching him from her perch on the lab table. Even here, he couldn’t keep still. He paced relentlessly, echoing the turmoil without.

“Look at me!” he snapped. “You’re holding my head as I vomit repeatedly. I’m a wreck. An addict in withdrawal. You should be far, far away from me.”

“I’m not,” she said simply.

 

_(And the world swore, no more.)_

 

“No. Not yet.”

“Now is not the time,” she agreed. “But _soon_.”

 

_(And the world whispered, no more.)_

 

****

 

She was crowned on the darkest of days.

_(And the world was in utter turmoil.)_

A truth was revealed, another demanded.

 

_You say it first. Say it like you mean it._

 

“I love you.” His eyes were wide, hair wild. He clung to her hands. She shook her head, smiling sadly.

“I know _._ ” He broke away, began to pace.

 

_(And the world changed.)_

 

“ _She_ doesn’t,” he said, unhappily.

“She will _,”_  she said, firmly.

 

_(Rooms were shifted, reordered, transfigured, all around the still center of the world.)_

 

He looked at her, in their pocket of silence in the Morgue, and fell still.

 

_(And the words rang out, until the very foundations shook and all was shrouded in soft darkness.)_

 

“Soon,” he whispered, and smiled. “ _Now._ ”

 

_(the king is dead long live the queen)_

 

And Molly Hooper, Queen of the Mind Palace, smiled back.

 

_(I love you. I love you. I love you.)_

**Author's Note:**

> As a bonus, here’s the original first paragraphs. As you can see, the final work turned out pretty different—and hopefully more true to Molly, Mind Palace version or otherwise.  
>  _Sometimes she was jealous of the other her. Ridiculous, she knew, for they were really the same, weren’t they? Mind Palace Molly and Real Molly._
> 
> _Still, in the quiet watches of the night when Sherlock lay dreaming, she sat and thought of the Other Molly. The other her who enjoyed his caresses and the focus of his intense gaze. Who heard him say “I love you,” and got to say it back._
> 
> _It was a lonely life she led, and though she ruled the mind palace, she’d rather be in the pits with Jim. So long as she had him._
> 
> _I’m real enough, aren’t I? Real enough to save him._
> 
>  _She sometimes loathed the Other Molly, because when Other Molly changed, she did too. She remembered watching in horror the day Other Molly has slapped him, and she’d found in herself a rigid strength she’d never known she have._  
>  Thank you for reading!


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